Says They
by Supersticiousmonkey89
Summary: Luna Lovegood reflects on the words of those around her and the relationship of two boys, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.


Says They

Supersticiousmonkey89

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. _

_They_ whisper around us.

Around them.

The stones think it's funny. But they think every thing's funny. Always laughing as the people walk over them spilling forth wild secrets they echo about intensely. The stones never could be quite, always bragging about their newest polish and the raging at the rain's malicious rivets.

The stones talk so loud, but no listens to them. No one but me.

So _they_ continue to whisper.

It's probably for the best, though. Ginerva laughs feebly when I tell her what the stones say. Hermione stares at me with only her determined logic. Harry, though, Harry's different.

Harry hears them too; just as they all hear, but sometimes he listens. I've watched him silently as he sat before the wailing candle, his eyes down cast and the shadows dancing across his face. The candle would howl comfort to him, just as the stones cry for his loss.

The stones are loud though, and the candle laments too much.

The candle wails almost as much as Draco, who clings to the cold sinks with desperate fingers. Draco makes the Ghost girl, Myrtle, smile. And he makes the stones angry, allowing his hot tears to irritate their cold songs.

The sinks laugh at the stones and drip continuously onto them, laughing with the Ghost girl, Myrtle, as they cry out in rage.

"Of course," says the breeze that knows all with it's merry, though sometimes wicked enjoyment, "that was how they met. Both Harry and Draco. Each unknowing and uncaring. Each lost."

But the breeze refuses to tell the entire tale. So instead it plays with the stones, kissing them each in turn, and dancing with the loud, wild music.

Still, _they_ continue to whisper.

Perhaps, that's why the Gargoyles remain impassive, stoically watching the children from it's place before the Headmaster's office. The gargoyles don't like children though, they make to much noise and don't listen to their elders.

The gargoyles especially don't like Harry.

They say he comes to often and doesn't listen enough. Always stomping in and out through their guarded passage and never thanking them properly. I try to tell them he meant no offense, but they don't believe me. They don't like children.

The gargoyles like Draco though.

They say he is no child because children whine and complain when they pass them. Draco doesn't whine anymore, they say. Draco only frowns and sneers and cries.

They don't like people who cry, but they don't like loud people either.

That's why the gargoyles grins at the stones. Because the stones cry loudly about the rain and the polish and Harry. And the Gargoyles know the stones are strong, but will not last forever. But then again, neither will the gargoyles.

But the whispers will.

The breeze is back. It blows through Pansy's cloak and Hermione's frizzy hair while they trade insults. I hear it snicker as it dances between the girls and slides beneath Pansy's cloak. The breeze laughs gleefully, Pansy wears no knickers beneath her cloak.

But neither does Cho.

The breeze laughs again and kisses my cheeks with cold lips and a frosty breath. It says it likes my cheeks, and Harry's eyes, and Draco's fingers. But it also likes kisses and Quidditch. So it leaves, intent on twirling with the brooms and laughing with balls and weeping with the skies.

Perhaps that is why the wind loves Harry and Draco so much.

The snitch thinks so, but the snitch thinks many things. Not all of which appropriate at all. But the snitch also likes Harry and Draco, it liked Cedric to. It cried when Cedric died, and it weeped for Harry, and it laments for Draco.

Because Draco and Harry don't know, but the stones do and the candle and breeze and the gargoyle do.

The stones tried to tell them, but no one listened. No one listens to the stones but me.

So I try to tell them, but Ginny stares sadly. Ron looks wide eyed. Hermione disapproves. And Harry scowls. But none deny it. Because the whispers start again, and they forget.

They always forget.

But the breeze doesn't, because the wind knows everything. And the wind hears everything. And the wind heard Harry smile in his sleep and saw Draco laugh silently. And the breeze watched them comfort the other, when the candle quit it's wailing and the stone's fell silent and the Gargoyle broke it's grin. The breeze heard them whisper the word that it told them to whisper six years prior, on a train as small children with wide eyes and open hearts.

The same word that makes the laugh, cry, and rage.

"Friends," calls the wind dancing in the night, "friends."


End file.
